


Keep Coming Back To

by orphan_account



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Cussing, I Tried, I guess h/c, Kink Meme, M/M, Reverse Prompt Fill, fight, mature for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 03:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's better off without him.<br/>Probably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Coming Back To

**Author's Note:**

> Filled for TWD KinkMeme Reverse Prompt Post  
> PROMPT: Honestly, if Daryl and Glenn were together for long I can see them both being almost cloyingly protective of each other, to the point of it being a conflict. I just love love love the idea of Daryl and Glenn arguing to the point of being red-faced and inarticulate, and Daryl storming outside in a near panic, saying Glenn's better off without him, and Glenn chasing after him, seizing on to him almost violently to make him not go. And then clinging, from both of them.
> 
> Happy reading! :D

**Keep Coming Back To**  
  
“Hey, Carl!” Rick calls out, jogging down the stairs to catch up to him. He looks worn down and tired, a little lifeless. The prison walls cast heavy, haunted shadows on his skeletal face, making too-slim cheekbones even more ghastly. Worry oozes out of his expression, not an uncommon emotion these days.  
  
Feeling an extra dose of teenage angst today, Carl responds with a bored and droned, “What?”  
  
“Have you seen Glenn or Daryl since the group got back? They’re startin’ to worry me…”  
  
“Yeah, I saw ‘em,” Carl says, huffing out an annoyed sigh. _How could Rick not’ve seen them? Or, at least,_ heard _them?_ “They’re in their cell.”  
  
Rick breathes a sight of relief, looking thankful for a moment.  
  
But only for the moment.  
  
“I’d steer clear, though,” Carl adds, toying with his set of gate keys, spinning silver and bronze pieces around the exaggeratedly large loop. “They’re fighting.”  
  
“ _Again_?” Rick’s distraught expression slowly creeps back up on him, making his mouth twist in an unpleasant way, his face growing heavy once more. He drags a hand over his beard, closes his eyes.  
  
Carl hums reaffirmingly, pleased at the havoc he’s causing. “They’re throwing stuff, too.”  
  
“ _Shit_.”  
  
Smirking, Carl makes his way to his cell, twirling his keys contently.  
  
+  
  
“I’m not a _child_ , Daryl! I can handle myself, alright? So stay the fuck out of it, would you!”  
  
Daryl’s seen Glenn in a million and a half situations with thousands of expressions, hundreds of emotions. But this one… this one’s new…  
  
The anger on him is so intense; his brows pull together, his forehead creasing and wrinkling, overlapping itself with slowly reddening skin; his mouth is stretched into a snarl so nasty, Daryl wonders if he’ll have nightmares about it; his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose and when his eyes open again, they’re painted with so many shades of light-brown fury, and Daryl honestly wants to fucking run.  
  
“I ain’t about to let you risk yer life for me, goddamnit!  You coulda been killed out there! You oughta be _thankin_ ’ me for _savin’ yer ass_!” he yells back, not as much heat behind his words as there was Glenn’s. Daryl might be good at disagreeing and having his own opinion about things and speaking up about it every now and again, but he’d never been good at fighting. Especially not with Glenn.  
  
“ _Thanking_ you? Hell _no_ , I’m not _thanking_ you! You “ _forbade_ ” me from helping you clear out a cell block! That’s not saving anyone! I would’ve been fine!”  
  
“You’re _hurt_ , Glenn! There was three _healthy_ people ‘at died today. ‘magine what kinda bait you’d a been, with ‘at limp’a yers!” Daryl shouts.  
  
Glenn begins to rocket across the room, finger outstretched in accusation. He almost reaches Daryl before, just short of him, he steps a little wrong on his bad ankle -- the one he twisted running from a stray geek yesterday, weaponless and flailing -- and is sent flying to the ground, face-first.  
  
Daryl manages to swoop down and catch Glenn mere feet from the cement floor and a crooked, bleeding nose.  Before Daryl can straighten the poor damsel-in-distress up, his hands are shoved away, angry and frantic. Glenn lands on his side with a muted, barely-there thud.  
  
“Get the hell off’a me,” Glenn growls, low and rumbling.  
  
And, yeah. _That_ pisses him off.  
  
Daryl Dixon can handle a lot of things being thrown at him. He’s endured more insults than he cares to remember, more slaps to the face, more blows to the gut. He’s been in fights and altercations of every kind. People have told him to fuck off, to rot in hell, to go screw himself. And he could handle all that, no problem.  
  
He could handle Glenn’s murderous glares and the boy cussing him out. He could stand Glenn calling him a motherfucker, a son of bitch, a dick-face. But he’d be damned if he was going to be shoved away by a man he’d only tried to help.  
  
Narrowing his eyes, Daryl pulls away, stands properly, and sourly mutters -- just loud enough for Glenn to hear -- “Well, fuck you, too.”  
  
“I don’t need your _heroics act_ , Daryl! _I am a grown-ass man_! I can take care of myself!”  
  
“Then quit bein’ a damned moron and act like it! Ain’t no one’s fault but yer own that you got ‘at twisted ankle. If you can ‘handle yourself,’ how come you left the block without a gun? How come you left the _cell_ without a gun?!”  
  
Glenn’s still sprawled across the floor in some god awful position with an arm twisted behind his back and his foot at an awkward angle. His ankle stings and throbs from the extra fall it’s just suffered. He scowls up at Daryl, looking like he’ll either punch him in the gut, or punch him in the gut twice. Something -- a tiny, faint voice in the back of his head -- is telling him that, yeah, Daryl’s probably right, _listen to him._   
  
He quickly shut that voice off.  
  
“You know what? I don’t need this, Daryl! You think I need you and your little crossbow and your… your whatever! But I don’t! Okay? You’re an _ass_ and you’re overbearing and annoying! I’d be better off with you!” Glenn knows it’s a lie. He knows he doesn’t mean it. He knows that without Daryl, he’d be screwed. He still doesn’t take it back.  
  
“ _Better off without me_? You’d be _dead_ if it weren’t for me!”  
  
“Yeah right!”  
  
“Fine then! Deal without me!”  
  
“Fine!”  
  
“Good.”  
  
Daryl storms out of the cell like it’s on fire, with heavy, angry footsteps that echo throughout the cellblock as he pounds his way down the hall. At some point, Rick steps forward, hand extended, silently offering some form of condolence. He seems paler than usual, probably scared of this fight’s extremity.  
  
Rick’s in Daryl’s way.  
  
He gets shoved to the side.  
  
+  
  
It takes Glenn nine seconds to figure out he should probably go after Daryl.  
  
After that, Glenn takes seven minutes to push himself off the floor, mindful of his bad ankle.  
  
It takes him a full fourteen minutes to catch up with his partner’s madman pace.  
  
It takes another three to get Daryl to stop moving.  
  
This is followed by at least six eternities of silence where Glenn realizes he should’ve taken the previous twenty-one minutes and nine seconds to plan what he was going to say.  
  
Eventually, Glenn just launches himself forward, wrapping his arms around Daryl in a very octopus-like fashion. He winces after he’s made contact, afraid he’ll get pushed away.  
  
Daryl gives in sooner than he’ll admit, though, encasing Glenn in a too-tight hug that’s only about 11% awkward.  
  
“I’m sorry…” Glenn says, hurried and muffled by the fabric of Daryl’s ragged, bloodstained shirt. “You’re right and I’m sorry and I… God. Okay? I know you’re just overly protective and that’s alright? Okay? Okay… Alright.”  
  
“It’s fine,” Daryl mutters into Glenn’s hair.  
  
Glenn sucks in a breath, savoring the scent of the older man, unwilling to let go. “I’m sorry,” Glenn repeats. And -- because it’s the only thing he can think to say, only thing he _wants_ to say -- he whispers, “I…” -- another breath -- “I love you.”  
  
Glenn’s only said the “L-Word” to Daryl twice in their year-long relationship, and both times, it’s gone unreturned. It makes his kin itch in anticipation and crawl in fear. He buries his nose further into his boyfriend’s shirt, not wanting to face the awkward silence or heated words that are bound to follow-  
  
“I love you, too, kid.”  
  
It takes Glenn another fifteen minutes to detach himself from Daryl, and, when he finally does, it’s reluctant.

**Author's Note:**

> I... I tried, okay?
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I (sadly) do not own the Walking Dead nor am I affiliated in any way with anyone remotely involved with the Walking Dead. Characters are not mine. Blah Blah Blah. Title is from the song "All At Once" by The Fray.
> 
> THANK YOU FOR SUBJECTING YOURSELF TO THE TORTURE THAT IS MY WRITING. FEEL FREE TO KUDOS, COMMENT, OR BOOKMARK. HOPE YOU LIKED IT.


End file.
